“Is it me, or people making a bit more effort than usual with their appearance?”

It’s Sunday, and Mimi and I are doing our makeup at the Barbican in preparation to sing.  We are singing songs from America, from Copland’s arrangement of a number of old American songs (you might almost call them folk songs) to modern songs by Morten Lauridsen and Eric Whitacre.  The choir has been on a journey which is not unusual when we learn something new.  Along the way we have struggled with the challenges involved in learning new (and especially contemporary) pieces.  This is the phase in which we are most likely to dismiss the pieces as being not very good.  Now, though, whilst still feeling a little nervous, we are starting to catch ourselves singing snatches of the songs.  We are ready to perform.

We have been on a journey of another sort with our conductor – and composer of some of the songs we shall be singing – Eric Whitacre.  He is younger than many of the conductors we sing with and brings the kind of beach-blond good looks which are often associated with California, where he lives with his wife and young son.  His compositions, whilst contemporary, are tonal – tuneful – in a way which is not fashionable in the world of new music.  What’s more, in his rehearsals with us, Eric’s manner is quite unlike that of many of the conductors we work with, combining confidence with humility and an unusual dose of openness – letting us know, for example, how it is for him to hear the Songs of Immortality, which will be premiered for the first time tonight, being sung for the first time.  Behind the scenes the chorus “chatter” suggests an ambivalence towards him, both drawn to his good looks and his openness of manner and slightly wary.  This is not what we’re used to.

Whitacre is a modern composer in another way.  His website (at http://www.ericwhitacre.com/) is thoroughly modern in its use of the possibilities of modern social media.  It includes a blog, twitter and facebook page as well as a photo gallery (from which I have taken the photo above) and examples of his music.  After he discovered a recording by a young woman of his piece Lux Arumque on YouTube he invited singers to record their line and created a virtual choir performance.

What of our concert?  This, too, was a thoroughly modern affair.  Whitacre introduced each piece or cycle with his trademark directness, openness and honesty to which the audience clearly responded warmly.  His wife, soprano Hila Piltmann, sang Barber’s Knoxville:  Summer of 1915 with an assurance and simplicity that moved me.  The choir (if I may say so – I am not without bias) rose to the occasion, singing with our trademark gusto and even with a bit of polish here and there.  I loved the challenge of the Songs of Immortality and was moved almost to tears by the rising crescendi in Sleep.

I was moved, too, by Whitacre himself.  For he was never less than completely gracious in his dealings with everyone involved.  For this, as much as for the beauty of his music, I am deeply grateful.

I am following up after a first meeting with a new coaching client.  I have promised to send her links to whatever postings I have already written (and possibly to write another) on the subject of appreciation.  As I scan through the postings that sit under the label “celebrating” I am struck by several that relate my experiences of singing with the London Symphony Chorus.  I smile, for I am in the midst of one such experience right now and – not for the first time – find myself falling in love.

We have been rehearsing Janacek’s Glagolitic Mass which we performed on Sunday and will perform again this evening.  It is a challenging piece with entries for the chorus which are hard to place even whilst requiring great precision.  We have been told that, in its original version, it was deemed too difficult to sing so that Janacek was asked to re-write it.  It is not to everyone’s taste – I know of one member of the chorus whose choice it is not to sing this piece – and still, it is to my taste.  I love the exuberant proclamation of faith that is written into the text and resonate to a quote from Edward Seckerson, music critic for The Times, when he says:  “One way of looking at Janacek’s Glagolitic Mass is to imagine that the voices raised in affirmation and outrage are those of pagans who have been Christian for about a week”.  This is music that brings a fresh eye – and voice – to the liturgy.

Sir Colin Davis is our maestro for the evening and an old friend through our many years of singing under his baton with the London Symphony and other Orchestras.  When my niece asks me, following our Sunday morning rehearsal, how I see the role of conductor, I reflect on the preparation we have had to sing as well as on the extent to which we rely on Sir Colin for those difficult entries.  It’s not just that he has prepared us for this piece.  Over the years we have heard him remind us (many times!) to come in early and “don’t chew the vowels!”  As I write I feel grateful for the opportunity to sing with him over a number of years and for his ongoing quest for performances that are sharp at the edges, lacking in any sentimentality and still, full of truth.

Beyond this, I feel a slight twinge of guilt as I prepare to single out any one of the musicians.  The soloists are wonderful, including Catherine Edwards on the organ.  Still, I have to say that it’s Simon O’Neill who has won my heart.  We have sung with him before, notably when he stood in at short notice to sing the title role of Otello in December 2009.  I hesitate to describe his performance, fearful of tripping over the critics’ vocabulary for a tenor of O’Neill’s gusto.  At the same time, it doesn’t do justice to his finesse to say, simply, that he really gave it some welly!  Over and above his singing, the fact that he had it in his heart, after such a demanding performance, to acknowledge the chorus amidst the takings of bows, gives him a place in my heart.  I love this act of appreciation from one singer to another.

Perhaps you will be in the audience tonight when we sing again.  I hope so.  And if not you will have to wait until our performance is released on the LSO Live label.  Perhaps you, too, will fall in love with Janacek, with our beloved Sir Colin and with Simon O’Neill.